In rags in their normal place   where diesel machines roar by   Pale dawn, at the scrapyard gates   Fast food parks and hardware mines   Not smiling or frowning they,   the shades on the fringe of town,   unpaid, idle, lending shape   to the gravity which they say   has dragged this country down   This beautiful country down   Close off the backstreets, no-one goes   Bring on the ice, the game-shows: brain-blister      The bigger the roadside crowd   the denser the gameshow cloud   There's nothing on that churning screen   Just nonsense that might mean:   "Like it? Good. No? Tough!   Pen them in and shut them up   Slow march, eyes right   Save all your revolution for your Saturday night!"      [(Your curse)?]      You earn but you feel oppressed   The armour could do with a test   Why not betray your lover's trust?   Go ahead and push it until it bursts   You're back on the streets again   No armour, no dreams, no friends   The worst pain is behind the eyes   Where the killer of futures hides, still hides      They've closed the backstreets, you can't hide   If you feel brave, just step outside   where all tomorrows stink the same   Where night vibrates with cries of:   Brain-blister      Well, we laughed till dawn about the coming hell   [...?]   We learned to live without rest or hope   but [you'll?] never admit we live a joke   The patient is fading fast   Oh, but ignore it, it's just an act